


Day 7: Winter Wonderland

by h4t08



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: 12 Days of Smutmas, F/M, I promise, No "poems" in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h4t08/pseuds/h4t08
Summary: On the night before Christmas, Patrick shows Shelagh just how beautiful her body is after giving birth to Teddy.
Relationships: Bernadette | Shelagh Turner/Patrick Turner
Comments: 15
Kudos: 24
Collections: Twelve Days of Turnadette Smutmas





	Day 7: Winter Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @aimeejessica for reading over this!

“You are so beautiful.” The gentlest of words comes tumbling out from Patrick’s lips, a small smirk lining his handsome face as he watches her feed their son from his perch at the door leading into their bedroom.

She feels the tips of her ears flush a dark crimson, her eyes still focused upon their child who is happily taking his bounty from her breast. “Every time he latches on, this feeling of… pride overcomes me. For so long, I had thought that I would never be able to do this or to have this bond with our children.” Taking a moment to think about her words, she glances up and asks, “Is it too prideful to feel this way?”

Stepping in, he carefully sits on the corner so as not to disturb his son from bonding with her. “It is perfectly natural to feel that way. The hormones being released as you breastfeed, those feelings of elation, are thought to have the same reaction as if you’re exercising.”

Feeling the slight weight of guilt easily slipping off her shoulders and disappearing into thin air, she glances back down at their beautiful son.

“It’s at times like these that I think of Sister Evangelina.” At her questioning glare, he straightens his back and sings in a cheerful voice, “Breast is best.”

A small giggle escapes her lips as little Teddy's suckles slow. “As much of a stickler she was at new mothers breastfeeding, she was the first one to tell me that the love and bond between a woman and her child comes from the heart, not from the breast.”

“Such an old softie.” Just as she pulls away Teddy and cradles him in her arms, he leans forward and kisses his son’s forehead, his downy hair glittering in the soft light.

Handing Teddy off to his father, she buttons up her shirt – the same old pajama top of his that she had borrowed all those years ago during the bomb scare – and relaxes against the headboard. “I had given him some formula after dinner. Hopefully, he will sleep through the night like he did yesterday.”

Flicking up his eyebrows in interest, a sly grin erupts across his cheeks as he asks Teddy in his silly, reading-the-Lancet-to-a-child voice, “Does that mean mummy and daddy can have some alone time?”

“Patrick?!” Her hushed whisper causes a playful smile to blossom along Teddy’s sweet face.

Lifting him up, another round of giggles erupts from their boy before Patrick sets him against his chest to burp him. “Mummy sounds like she’s mad— ohh!” Teddy’s burp is met with a soft fart. “There we go, my boy.”

“In record time too.” She can’t help but to beam. “It seems like he is getting into his routine very nicely.”

“Nicely, indeed.” Patrick lifts his son and gives him a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose before residing his burping duties. “However, being the smart boy that he is, I think he understands how much daddy is looking forward to spending time with mummy.”

“Patrick!” It takes everything she has to keep herself from laughing.

“You know, my dear boy,” Patrick glances down, their son fitting perfectly within the corner of his arm, “mummy might sound like she’s cross, but you have to look at her face to see if she really is mad or if she is playing.” Lifting him up, both Turner men bat their innocent eyes at her, a few gurgling coos coming from the youngest.

With faces like that, she is unable to stay mad. “You’re going to teach him bad habits.”

Giving his son a kiss on his fuzzy head, he murmurs, “Nonsense.” Catching Teddy’s yawn, Patrick adds, “Look at that. Someone is ready for bedtime.” Leaning in towards her, he gently tells their son, “Give mummy some kisses.”

Still smiling, she gives Teddy a kiss and nuzzles, “Good night, my sweet boy.”

“Mummy, you stay here.” Patrick bounces off of the bed and heads towards the door. “Feel free to start taking off some clothes.” Disappearing into the dark hallway, he pops back a second later and exclaims with a cheeky grin, “On second thought, don’t. I want to do it.”

Playfully rolling her eyes when he disappears, she half expects him to bounce back into the room. When he doesn’t, she glances around the room to find something to keep her hands busy. She settles on a book sitting on her bedside table that has nearly taken her four months to start. Opening to her dog-eared page - a bad habit she had inherited from Patrick not too long after they married – she tries her best to ignore the nervous sparking of nerves within the pit of her belly.

This will be the first time they will be intimate since she had given birth to their little miracle.

It is only recently that she had finally recovered from her labor, the hemorrhoids she had received from the added pressure of Teddy sitting low and the bearing down being quite stubborn. That isn't to mention the other sensitive parts of her body; her breasts have just stopped leaking, her nipples are once again whole with the use of lanolin, the stretch marks that are still and the added weight she has no chance of losing.

While she knows Patrick, as a physician, has seen the effects of pregnancy on countless women, she doesn't want him to see her as his patient.

She wants him to look at her like the first night of their honeymoon. She feels a small smile stretch across her lips, ' _or the last time we had made love a few days before I had given birth_.'

A quiet giggle escapes her lips as she thinks back to that night, her book now laying haplessly in her lap. What had started out as an innocent kiss quickly turned into them trying to figure how to get her belly to cooperate and ended with both of them wrestling in awkward positions laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“The last time I saw that wicked little smile, we were desperately trying to make heads and tails of how to squeeze your tum between us.” Patrick closes the door and walks up to their bed, his Oxford already pulled from his pants and unbuttoned.

Glancing down, she tries to cover the stubborn leftover evidence of her pregnancy. “There’s still a bit of tum between us.”

Feeling the bed dip next to her hip, Patrick places her book back onto her bedside table and reaches out to her shirt, opening it button by tiny button.

Silence drums between them, almost as rampant as her heart against the tips of his nimble fingers.

Once the last button is cleared, Patrick pushes the collars to the edge of her shoulders, revealing her breasts and stomach. “Your belly, your beautiful belly, helped to create and shelter our son.” His palm is warm as his fingers lightly trace along the stretched lines. “This will always be my favorite part of your body.” When she still doesn’t respond as quickly as he is used to, he cheekily adds, “Your breasts are a close second.”

“Patrick?!” She rolls her eyes but laughs all the same.

“Please, let me show you how I see you.” His hands stay perfectly still as his eyes tick back and forth. “Allow me the honor of worshipping your body the way it is meant to be worshipped.”

While she is still slightly uncertain with the feel and look of her new, post-labor body, she cannot deny the shiver of arousal that is already crawling it’s way along her spine. With a soft smile, she slightly nods her head. “Just be mindful that I’m still rather sensitive.”

With a coy smirk, he lifts and kisses the curved heel of her hand – the same one he had tenderly kissed so many years ago in the parish kitchen that has long since been demolished. “I’ll be gentle.” Her body sings with excitement as he stands and makes quick work of his clothes, his own anticipation tented within his cotton boxers.

Stamping down a nervous giggle just itching to be heard, she reaches over to the lamp on her bedside table.

“No.” He pushes the plush comforter to the side, exposing her bare legs to the nip of the cool air. “I want to see you, all of you.” With his mischievous grin showcasing those playful lines she adores, he adds a sweet, “Please,” with the bat of his eyelashes.

While over the years she has grown comfortable – bold even – with their lovemaking being brought to the light, she now finds that her shyness has returned in full force, despite his earlier comforting words of beauty.

After a few awkward seconds of silence, he settles back on the edge of the bed next to her hip, capturing her hand and pressing it against his bare chest. “Why you resist?” She stares into the depths of her lap, unsure how to answer or even if he would understand. “Why do you not see yourself the way I see you?”

She licks her parched lips, the merciless pounding of her heart quite unforgiving when it comes to her normally confident expression.

“You know,” his voice is timid, almost as if he is revealing his deepest secret, “there was a time where I had felt unworthy of your love.”

That breaks her.

No longer is she focused on the shape of her body or the marks that are drawn along her skin, but rather on the knowledge that Patrick, her Patrick, had exposed an invisible pain, one that he had never confided in with her. “When?”

His smile is kind, yet sad. “The first night of our honeymoon.”

“No.” The tip of her finger reaches up and traces along the hard edge of his jaw. “Why?”

“Many reasons,” he sighs. “I am nearly twenty years older than you, a fact that I am constantly reminded of every time we sit down to a family meal. I’m not as fit as I once was, the years of kind offerings from grateful patients showing, specifically in my belly.” His thumb runs along the sharp curve of her knuckles as if this one simple motion is the only thing that will sooth his soul as much as it does with her. “Worse yet, are the physical and mental scars I bare from the war; they have always made me feel… inadequate as a man both in the community and here at home.”

Thinking back on their honeymoon, she digs through her own memories of cataclysmic nerves and painstaking shyness to find an image of Patrick sitting at the foot of their bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. She remembers that he had a lost look about him when she had stepped out of the bathroom in her robe, his features daunt and pale. However, just as she was about to ask him about it, he had stood up and swept her around in a silent dance, the warmth of his palm exuding not only confidence but a promise of tenderness. “I remember that you had a sad look about you, but it went away quickly.”

His smile grows, blossoming as if it were a flower reaching out towards the sun. “Because I was reminded that you had chosen me, freely and with no hesitation.” Standing, he pulls her into his strong arms, their barely covered bodies coming together, and begins to sway to a silent melody no one but them knew. “You bestowed upon me the permission to touch you.” His eyes carry the embodiment of his love and desire. She doesn’t dare to look away. Not now. Not ever. “To love you.” The arm around her waist pulls her further into his embrace. “To worship you.” He lifts her hand and delicately kisses her knuckles. “At that moment when you danced with me, all of my trepidation melted away.”

Their hearts beat as one, her soul woven into his. “Oh, Patrick.”

Halting their dance, he lifts her hand and kisses the thinning scar, his lips carrying the conviction of his love just like they had many years ago. “That night, you didn’t care about my belly or about my age or about my scars, you loved me for me and that is how I will always love you.”

With all of her fear and embarrassment and trepidation melting at her feet, she gathers her unbuttoned shirt and shrugs it off of her shoulders, allowing it to fall onto all those selfish feelings that had been holding her back. With nothing more than her white panties and a demure smile slowly spreading along her lips, she presses herself against his body, gently kissing him just above his heart. “Forgive me, my darling, for losing my sight when it comes to the love that connects and completes our souls.”

“Forgive me for not reminding you sooner.” His fingers, in obvious need for her touch, reach out and glide along the curve of her shoulders.

Threading her thumbs along the band of his boxers, she buries them under the cotton and pushes it down over his hips. “Will you still show me how you see me?”

“With the gentlest of hands, my darling.”

Capturing her jaw between his thumb and index finger, he lifts her chin and kisses her. Within a matter of seconds, he has her at the foot of their bed, and just as he promised, he takes his time with her, exploring her body with the brush of his fingers, tasting her skin with those lips that have brought her ecstasy many times over.

She gives herself to him, allowing her body to enjoy the bounty of pleasures he so freely gives her. “Ohhhh,” she runs her fingers through his hair as his masculine build flushes against her, the intoxicating feel of his excitement building against her hip setting off tiny fireworks within her belly.

“Lay down my darling,” the warmth of his breath curling against the curve of her neck sends a ripple of shivers from the center of her body out. Taking a tiny step back, he looks to her with adorning, lust filled eyes as he captures her elbows.

As she settles down onto the edge of their bed, she selfishly allows the tips of her fingers to draw lazy lines down his chest and around his stomach. “I would not take you any other way, Patrick.” Being ever-so bold, she takes the length of him within her palm, memorizing, yet again, the softness of his skin.

A euphoric surge of pride rushes through her veins at the sight of him enjoying the touch she so willingly gives him. “Oh, Shelagh,” his moan catches within his throat as his fingers ache to run through her hair, “my bold, bold Shelagh.”

Giving him a tiny kiss on the tip of his head, she leans back onto their bed and pushes herself back. “Come lay with me, darling.”

Standing where he is at, he looks at her from his high perch. His eyes roam along the long lines of her body, appreciating her form as a small smile brightens his face. “My god, you are…,” his knee catches the plush mattress as he kneels before her, “you are gorgeous.” Starting at the tip of her toe, his fingers and hands work in correlation together to heighten her senses and to soothe any lingering anxieties.

“Mmm.” She watches him through her glasses, appreciating his reverence, yet growing apprehensive at his gentle pace. She starves for his touch the same way a thirsty man starves for a drop of water.

“I told you earlier that your stomach is my favorite part of your body,” she can hear the delight in his voice, “but your legs are simply divine.” He leans down, his lips now traversing along the curves of her legs, the tip of his wayward hair just out of her own reach. “It had taken me quite a long time to learn how to work at the surgery with you parading around in your tight skirts.”

She can feel her cheeks flush bright red. “There were many times you had taken advantage.”

He looks at her from under the hood of his lusty eyes, a cheeky smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

The many days and nights of trying to find a small purchase of wall while fumbling in the supply closet next to his office blissfully flutters through her mind, the rush of excitement at the possibility of being caught was rather addictive. “Then perhaps I should wear more skirts.” It’s a tease, one that she knows will get him riled up.

And he does not disappoint. “And lose out of seeing you in your uniform? Never.” He leans back down, his tongue continuing its trek from her knee to her hip, making sure to keep away from the one area she is desperate for him to touch.

At least now he has moved up enough that she is able to run her fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling him exactly where she wants him to be.

Bypassing her intimate area completely, he laughs under his breath when she yanks his hair in frustration. “Patience, my darling, I’m just admiring your beautiful belly.” His palms capture her waist, his fingers stretched, his thumbs playing with the top hem of her panties.

She grows tired of his tease. “Patrick,” her husky voice accentuates her accent, “I want you ri— oh!” The warmth of his mouth nuzzles between her legs, his tongue languorously running along the wet cotton. “That’s… yes,” she sighs, her body melting into the mattress.

She can feel him madly grinning, his tongue still working its way between her folds. “My other favorite part of your body.” Using barely the tips of his fingers, he slips her underwear down her legs, kissing the inside of her thighs as he throws the little scrap of clothing over his shoulder. “I love kissing you down here.”

She shivers in both anticipation and delight. “I love you kissing me down there.”

“Hmmm.” She can feel rumble from his voice all the way down to her toes as he sucks on her tiny bundle of nerves.

“Ohhh…,” she palms her nipple with one hand as the other runs through the soft strands of his hair. “Mmmm,” her body shimmies in delight as his mouth and tongue work in concert with her own playful pinches, her hips bucking with enthusiasm.

With her body singing in fevered eagerness, he slips his middle finger all the way in, his thumb rubbing tight circles along her tiny button, his kisses as light as a butterfly along the inside of her thigh. His movement is perfect, yet relentless, both exotic and loving. “I love watching you pleasure yourself.” His voice is low, growling, no doubt his deprived mouth leaving tiny love-marks in its wake.

Her hips buck on their own accord, the rapturous feeling of her orgasm beginning to draw its delicious mark as her heart pounds against her throat. “Ohhh, Patrick,” she tugs on his hair just as hard as she pinches her rosy red nipple.

He adds another finger, his tongue now working with his thumb.

God, she is close, so close to her reach towards the stars. “Mmm.” She slightly shifts her hips, her teeth gnawing into her bottom lip. “Oh!” Her body tightens, her very breath caught within her throat. “Ohhh…,” she effortlessly runs to that peak and blissfully jumps off its precipice, her vision glaringly white as he skillfully works her body as if she is his instrument.

He moves up her body just as she comes down from her high, his lips gently feasting on the vast stretch of skin between her breasts and neck. “Your beautiful body gives me this every time we make love.” His voice is gravely, visions of him marking her with his mouth and teeth exciting her to no end. “I am…,” his tongue swirls along her puckered peak, soothing the sharp pain left behind by her needy fingers. “I am the luckiest man alive.”

She reaches between them, the touch of his soft skin within her palm exhilarating and calming all at once. “You are my king.” She shifts her hips, the curved head of his penis shallowly slipping in and out, teasing her in the most delectable way. She tilts his chin up. “You are the one whom my soul loves.”

Capturing the edge of her jaw with the curl of his fingers, he rapturously murmurs against the corner of her mouth, “I love it when you talk Bible to me.” He kisses her hard, the slight tilt of his hips bringing them together. His strokes start slow at first, maddening, gradually sinking in until he is fully inside her body, the stretch of him feeling both tender and satisfying all at once. “I love…,” their foreheads kiss as he slowly rocks back and forth. “I love the way you feel around me.”

She glances up through the fog of her glasses, the sight of pure tantalizing pleasure playing along his handsome features causing her heart to flutter violently. She now finds that she doesn’t want gentle and loving, she wants delicious and fast and she knows the perfect way to give him the kickstart she needs. “I love the way you feel inside me.”

With a sloppy kiss between her brow, the gentleness that he had promised earlier shatters just the way she envisioned it, his love of her naughty words giving him the permission to let go. His hips pick up in speed, cantering, striving to reach that elusive, yet oh-so-delicious spot she craves. His breathing, shallow and hard, curls and collides along her neck, the heat of their bodies in motion tantalizingly say the least. “Shelagh,” he growls as her muscles tighten around him.

“Faster.” He does as she asks, he always does, his pace eliciting soft, needy little moans from her. Feeling her senses on the cusp of greatness, she shifts her body against his solid frame so that the length of him simultaneously runs along the tiny bundle of nerves. “Right ther—” her back arches into his barrel chest. “Oh, Patrick!” She blissfully tumbles over the edge, euphoria erotically hammering against her skin as her vision blurs with fulfilled desire.

Lifting himself up so that she can feast upon the length of his chest, he captures and widens her knees as he continues to thrust at an erratic pace. Running her fingers along his wiry muscles, it is her turn to play him as if he were her own instrument. With the hard clench of her muscles and the soft pinch of his nipple, he is quick to spill inside her, the moan of her name being caught within the satiated air around them. Collapsing back down onto her, his arms wrap around her body as he pillows his head on her chest. “I love you, my darling wife.”

“I love you, too, my dear, sweet husband.” For a few minutes, they lay together, intertwined, neither knowing where one begins and the other one ends.

He kisses the line of her collarbone. “How do you feel?”

“Quite excellent at the moment.” She can feel his ever-so prideful smile against her cooling skin. “Tomorrow morning I’ll be sore, but as of right now, I am feeling very good indeed.”

“Hmm,” the vibration from his hum can be felt in the tips of her toes.

_Oh, no!_ And while her mind should be focused on the giant teddy bear she has her arms wrapped around, a thought comes zinging in through her mind, disrupting the sultry air that they had worked so hard in creating. “Patrick, I completely forgot to stuff the stockings.”

He laughs under his breath and murmurs against her skin, “Your stocking is completely stuffed, my dear.”

“Patrick!” She playfully swipes at his back before pushing him away.

“What?! You’re the one who started it.” While she knows exactly what he is talking about, she convincingly gives him an exasperated look; to which he cheekily replies, “Oh, don’t play that game, my dear, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Taking her hand and pressing it above her head into the mattress, he moves up her body and kisses her in a way that has her melting from the inside out.

While she would like nothing more than to seek the attention her husband so willingly wants to give, she knows that the stockings will not stuff themselves and she’s not willing to wake up early just to fill them. “Patrick.”

“I will do it.” He kisses the corner of her mouth. “You were up early this morning.” He kisses the space between her brow. “You deserve a lie-in for Christmas morning.” He kisses her cheek before disentangling himself from her arms. “As much as a lie-in that Teddy will allow you.” Giving her a silly grin that she so often sees in their son, he digs out his robe from his drawer and shoves it on.

“Are you sure?”

His smile is so sweet as he goes about pulling the comforter over her body, tucking her in with an extra blanket. “Yes. After a quick shower, I will make sure that the stockings are absolutely perfect.” He kisses her forehead. “Now go to sleep, my dear wife.”

“I love you, Patrick.” Her eyes are heavy as he turns off the light.

“I love you too.”

* * *

“You’re up late.” Tim buries his house key within his coat pocket as he walks into the kitchen.

“Yeah.” He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I promised your mother that I'd finish the stockings, then I remembered that I needed to put Angela’s bike together. That’s when I found your mother’s Christmas gift.” He motions to the heaped mess of paper, strings and bows that is littering the kitchen table.

“I can help you with that.” Tim sits in the chair opposite of him and pulls the jewelry box towards him.

With nothing else to do with his hands, he stands and fills a kettle with water, the sound of crinkling paper comfortably filling in the silence.

“You know what this reminds me of?” When he shakes his head, Tim smiles, “‘Please, will you marry my dad?’”

He laughs under his breath as he settles back in his chair. “I was such a nervous wreck, I had barely eaten that morning.” He watches, mesmerized at how effortless Tim is with wrapping the small box. “So much has changed since then.”

“For the better, I think.” Taping down the last flap, he twirls the ribbon around the gift. “I need your finger.” Providing it, he finishes the gift wrapping with a perfect bow. “All done.”

“Thank you son.” Taking the gift, he sets it under the tree before returning back to the kitchen to pour a cup of tea for both of them.

“Did you give her the necklace we had seen together?”

“With the pearls?” Tim nods. “Yeah. I think she’s gonna love it.”

“You can give mum a half-eaten biscuit and she would love it.” Tim rolls his eyes. “However, in her defense, she would never turn down a biscuit, especially after her pregnancy.”

“Yeah, uhh…” Turning around and nervously glancing up towards the stairs, he is thankfully reassured that all is peaceful with the dark and stillness that greets him. “I wouldn’t bring up biscuits with your mum just yet.”

“Speaking of which, I assumed that she would be the one finishing up the stockings.”

His cheeks flame at the image of her nestled in the bed they had just made love in. “She was tired.”

When Tim squints his eyes, he tries to smooth his features, a feat not easy under the watchful eye of his son. “Even after all this time, you still blush at the thought of her.” He can feel himself madly smiling, despite his desire to keep his face as neutral as possible. “You are obviously still madly in love with her.”

“Very much so.”

“When did you know…” Tim looks over his shoulder towards the staircase and looks back at him when he is satisfied that they are alone. “When did you know that you were in love with mum?”

He thinks back to that period in his life. With his wife gone and a son to raise, he buried himself into the needs of the community. In response, it had taken care of him; given his life importance and direction, provided a safe place for Tim to play with his friends at Cubs, helped him when he was at a loss with a certain parenting skill.

_‘Children are more resilient than you think.’_ She was so small then, yet her presence, her gentility, had shined brightly, almost like a coat of armor. Often he had to remind himself that she was a woman of the cloth, but she kept reminding him that she was different in many little ways; a personal anecdote to sooth his fears, a willingness to share small victories, and an understanding that religion is not always the answer. “It wasn’t anything big or grandiose, more like many small occasions that had built upon each other.”

“But there had to be a point where you knew it was more than just a friendship.” When he doesn’t answer immediately, Tim rolls his eyes in true Tim fashion. “She was a nun, dad, one that you had a lot of respect for. You wouldn’t have made a move if you knew she didn’t feel the same way.”

He swore to himself that he would never tell the story to another living being, however, his son does bring up a logical point. Could he lie, yes, but that not something he believes in. “Do you remember the fetê that year?”

Tim squints his eyes. “With ‘Robin Hood’ and the three-legged race?”

He nods in the affirmative. “I tried, I tried so hard to come back in time for the race, but when I heard the starter pistol, I knew I had failed you. It was then, when I came running in, that I saw the both of you catching up to the other groups, eventually winning the race. She didn’t have to do that. When I had gone into the kitchen to check on her after your fall, I had every intention of thanking her.”

Tim stares at him, enraptured with his story, hanging onto every word. “You had the intention? How did it change?”

His heart pounds against his throat, the memory of his lips touching her skin setting off millions of tiny fireworks deep within the pit of his stomach. “I kissed her.”

“You…you…,” Tim’s mouth hangs open in surprise, “umm, wow.”

“I did not plan it, I assure you. Those little things I had told you about earlier had built to a point where I was ready to burst if I didn’t show her how I felt.”

“What did she do?”

“She pulled away, of course.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I thought I was done for, that I would be driven out of Poplar or, worse, that she would run away and that I would never see her again.” He takes a small sip of his tea, the cool bitterness matching this part of the story. “She had given me her reason for pulling away, however I knew instantly that I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. That day I made a promise to myself that I would leave her alone, that our relationship would be strictly work-related.”

“It doesn’t sound like it worked out that way.”

“She had been diagnosed with TB not too long after that. When I had driven her to the sanatorium, she was silent the entire time, but I knew that she was scared. I wanted nothing more than to hold her, to tell her that everything would be alright, but I didn’t. I let her go. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“You sent her letters, though.” Tim’s eyes brighten with memory. “She had mentioned it in the letter she had sent to me.”

“I had written mostly about mundane things, the happenings of the community, the little bits of gossip I knew she would be interested in. In my own way, I didn’t want her to forget about me.”

“Then we found her on that road.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “And the rest is just history.” Standing up, he takes the tin of biscuits out from the top cabinet and sets it down on the table between them. “What brought this on?”

At first he shrugs off his question, choosing instead to munch on four biscuits, yet he is patient. His son takes after him in the regard that he doesn’t like to discuss his feelings for fear of either karma or judgement. “There’s this person…,” he swallows another biscuit whole. “I’m just not…,” he picks up another biscuit but plays with it instead, “I’m just not sure.”

“If it’s meant to be, then it will be.”

“I don’t believe in fate.”

“After your mummy died, I didn’t either, but now I realize that if one thing were different, then we wouldn’t be here, sitting in this kitchen, eating your mum’s favorite biscuits while she lies asleep upstairs, your sister and brother not too far away.” He closes the tin box. “Fate may not be something as tangible as this table or a box of jewelry, but it’s as real as you and me.”

“You make it seem so easy.”

“But at that time, so long ago, it wasn’t. I was in agony, you being my only savior.” He reaches out and captures his arm. “After your mummy died, I felt scared of the future, intimidated by its vastness. Then, on a not-so-special day, my heart had opened to the possibility of allowing love to once again flourish. I was scared out of my mind, but the most miraculous thing happened.” He pauses and waits for Tim to look at him. “She loved me back, without recourse. If you are meant to love this person, then you will know. In the meantime, have fun being young.”

“Having fun as in playing ‘Jingle Bells’ fifty million times tomorrow for that bossy boots of a sister?” Tim playfully rolls his eyes as he steals another biscuit from the tin.

“I remember when you were a baby, all you wanted was for your mummy to play ‘Jingle Bells’ over and over again.” That particular memory from long ago flutters through his mind, eliciting a small smile from both father and son. “Your mummy, of course, indulged you, until you were old enough to play it on your own.”

“Gosh, no wonder I have such an aversion to it.”

“Yes, but Angela doesn’t and this is Teddy’s first Christmas. You can make it a new Christmas tradition for our family.” He gathers all of the garbage and dumps it in the trash bin. “Angela adores the way you play.”

“Do you think mummy would mind?” Tim’s voice is soft, delicate, as he stares down at his hands.

“Quite the opposite, Tim, I think she would love it.” Hearing his son taking a shaky breath, he reaches out and lays a hand over his arm. “She would be so proud of you.”

Flicking a tear away from his cheek, Tim gives him a watery smile. “Thanks dad.”

“I love you, son.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
